Yo, MC Plus Plus, my rhymes are so phat,
I’m PSPACE-complete but I’ll reduce you to 3-SAT.
My crew is so hard that we roll in NP,
And bitches dereference my pointer for free.
When I’m linear probing they’re like, “Damn that’s gigantic,”
I showed it to your mom and she used Hoare semantics.
She jumped like JNE up onto my erection
And I picked up that ho like straight garbage collection.
(“That’s right, mark-and-sweep on these nuts, bitch.”)

My lyrics get stolen by sucker MCs,
I gotta sign my rhymes with PGP;
But I keep on generatin’ like a CFG
‘Cause there’s so much drama in the PhD.

What’s wrong MC Plus Plus, am I making you nervous?
Even skanky fat hoes give you denial of service.
You’ll probably go to jail before you write your dissertation
So prepare your asshole for some internal fragmentation;
<Uhhh> Penetration, as they fill it up with jism,
It’s too bad you aren’t closed under homomorphism.
Your problem, Plus Plus, is that your typing isn’t strict:
In ML my type is real and your type is ‘a dict.

I control my flow better than TCP,
I rep the west coast like Eazy-E,
You best not front if you can’t pass the GRE,
‘Cause there’s so much drama in the PhD.

My flow is so intense that I will overflow your buffer,
Corrupt your stack pointer makin’ all your data suffer.
I’ve got saturated edges but your flow is sparser,
Real gangstas sip on Yacc; instead you generate a parser.
While you’re busy poppin’ stacks I’ll pop a cap in your skull,
While you smoke your crack pipe I’m gonna pipe you to /dev/null.
I may not have a label but I rap like a star;
I’m an unsigned long int and you’re an 8-bit char.

Your mom circulates like a public key,
Servicing more requests than HTTP.
She keeps all her ports open like Windows ME,
Oh, there’s so much drama in the PhD.

DWORD to your moms, I came to drop bombs;
I’ve got more rhymes that San Jose’s got dotcoms.
I rep the Farm like 50 reps Queens,
With more power than multitape Turing Machines.
Blowin’ up the rap scene faster than factorial functions,
I’m dope like PNP transistors and I’ll saturate your junctions.
By the time you’ve rhymed one line, I’ve already busted ten;
You rap in exponential time and I’m big-O of log(n).

I run gmake and gcc,And I ain’t never called malloc without calling free.
I’ll beat your ass until it’s colored like a red-black tree
‘Cause there’s so much drama in the PhD.

The path of love is never smooth
But mine’s continuous for you
You’re the upper bound in the chains of my heart
You’re my Axiom of Choice, you know it’s true

But lately our relation’s not so well-defined
And I just can’t function without you
I’ll prove my proposition and I’m sure you’ll find
We’re a finite simple group of order two

I’m losing my identity
I’m getting tensor every day
And without loss of generality
I will assume that you feel the same way

Since every time I see you, you just quotient out
The faithful image that I map into
But when we’re one-to-one you’ll see what I’m about
‘Cause we’re a finite simple group of order two

Our equivalence was stable,
A principal love bundle sitting deep inside
But then you drove a wedge between our two-forms
Now everything is so complexified

When we first met, we simply connected
My heart was open but too dense
Our system was already directed
To have a finite limit, in some sense

I’m living in the kernel of a rank-one map
From my domain, its image looks so blue,
‘Cause all I see are zeroes, it’s a cruel trap
But we’re a finite simple group of order two

I’m not the smoothest operator in my class,
But we’re a mirror pair, me and you,
So let’s apply forgetful functors to the past
And be a finite simple group, a finite simple group,
Let’s be a finite simple group of order two
(Oughter: “Why not three?”)

I’ve proved my proposition now, as you can see,
So let’s both be associative and free
And by corollary, this shows you and I to be
Purely inseparable. Q. E. D.

Every breath you take
Every change of rate
Jobs you don’t create
While we still stagflate
I’ll be watching you

Every single day
Bernanke takes my pay
When growth goes away
Inflation will stay
I’ll be watching you

Oh can’t you see?
The Fed’s where I should be
How my poor heart aches
With each of your mistakes

First you move your lips
Hike a few more BPS
When demand then dips
And the yield curve flips
I’ll be watching you

Since you came supply’s lost without a trace
I dream at night that I punch you in the face
Your interest policies I cannot embrace
I feel so wronged and I long for Greenspan’s place
I keep cryin’: Benny! Benny! Please…

Oh can’t you see?
The Fed Chair should be me
How my poor heart aches
When prices escalate

Every move you make
Every oath you take
Hope your models break
Bet that beard is fake
I’ll be watching you

CBS is great
Wouldn’t change my fate
But we’ll be watching you
We’ll be watching you

At first, I didn’t know wht BPS is, but it turns out to stand for basis point: A basis point (bp or ‱) is 0.01% and is often used in the context of interest rates.

Just realized CBS stood for Columbia Business School and not the TV channel Columbia Broadcasting System. I also didn’t know who Bernanke was and it turns out he’s the new Alan Greenspan, I mean Chairman of the Board of Governors of the United States Federal Reserve (“the Fed”).